The Writer's Thread.

[ArchVile99]

Originally Posted by SplitBreast

I did this with one of my shorts and completely destroyed it. I went back and kept changing stuff and by the time I was done I hated what I wrote.

Been there. The only thing I ever wrote without much editing was the piece I submitted here for that "Write-Off" thing, but it was so short, I really didn't have to worry too much. Editing becomes really heavy only when you're worried about continuity as well as quality. Plus, we are our own worst critics, so we inherently hate our own shit.

I'll post some stuff when I get home. Copywrighted stuff only, so don't try anything funny!

[MikeBonomo]

Originally Posted by ArchVile99

Been there. The only thing I ever wrote without much editing was the piece I submitted here for that "Write-Off" thing, but it was so short, I really didn't have to worry too much. Editing becomes really heavy only when you're worried about continuity as well as quality. Plus, we are our own worst critics, so we inherently hate our own shit.

I'll post some stuff when I get home. Copywrighted stuff only, so don't try anything funny!

I hear that. I've hated just about everything I've written. Loved the stories, hated the writing. But, I have a pretty good support team, some that actually love reading, so they motivate me to keep going. I'm so viscious to myself.

Damn skippy man. I'd rather just link to the lit mag or E-zine it's in.

[toXSick]

You guys might want to check out Nathan Bransford's blog. He's a San Fran agent with the NY-based agency Curtis Brown, and he's very helpful, as are those who post there. I go there daily, and even though I consider my stuff "dark fiction" and/or "literary genre fiction", all rules there apply.

Presently, I'm on the second draft of my second novel, and have completed lots of screenplays, as well. I got close a few times with representation and am currently in talks with a filmmaker in Canada, but it might also be important to note that you don't necessarily have to have an agent for prose. Sometimes they're more harmful than helpful, so you really need to do your research and look at publishers and their submission guidelines directly.

Best advice I ever got: work just as hard on your query letters as you do on your work. You need to get them exactly right. Nathan has a lot about the subject archived on his site, so I would encourage anyone who's serious to check it out.

[ArchVile99]

Here's another helpful site:

http://www.cafepress.com/cp/info/sell/products/books

It's like a self-pub joint, but from what I understand, its actually not a scam! I just found out that they did books a short time ago, and I'm about to give it a whirl.

Originally Posted by toXSick

Best advice I ever got: work just as hard on your query letters as you do on your work.

So. Fucking. True.

[MikeBonomo]

Originally Posted by ArchVile99

Here's another helpful site:

http://www.cafepress.com/cp/info/sell/products/books

It's like a self-pub joint, but from what I understand, its actually not a scam! I just found out that they did books a short time ago, and I'm about to give it a whirl.



So. Fucking. True.

There's nothing wrong with SPing...it's people like PA that give it a bad name. I'd rather go the old fashioned way and if that failed with one book...toss it and write another one. Repeat.

[I am a HORROR movie!!!]

Originally Posted by ArchVile99

So. Fucking. True.

Really? Whoa. I never even thought about that. There is so much I have to cover before I start sending things out.

And I almost forgot. Still no reply from the agency regarding my inquiries.

[I am a HORROR movie!!!]

Well, my local Television station, RTE, just posted an advertisement for writers to submit a completed draft for a new 6 episode series, called Storyland. I'm hard at work on my 2nd draft, but it's tricky coming up with a hook for each episode. As soon as I get home, I'll copy/paste some material here...feedback perhaps?

Any chance this Thread can be Stickied by a mod?

[XcentrickSalo]

I just took up writing to fill the time in my life... and I start on fictionpress... and it's nothing but an outlet for me... but all the links here show me I could probably take it a level higher.... awesome stuff guys!

-XS

[Douglas Allen Rhodes]

I spent about 5 years shopping my novel before it got picked up by a very small publishing house (Wild Child Publishing). They published it first as an ebook, and hopefully will be bringing it to print sometime around the beginning of next year.

It's a disheartening process. There were times that I couldn't frickin' stand the rejections I was getting. Even now, publishing with a small house, it's frustrating.

Anyway, since the thread says to post excerpts, and nobody seems to be posting excerpts, I'll go first.

An Excerpt from: Sex and Murder
Copyright © 2008 Douglas Allen Rhodes
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.



This excerpt contains some strong language and disturbing content. We do not recommend it for those under 18 years of age or for any one who is bothered by violence or profanity.

I knocked on the front door twice--hard--and stepped back to wait.

He opened the door wide, an absent-minded look on his face.

I hit him in his throat.

Gasping for air, his eyes wild with surprise, he fell to the ground. I stepped over him, into his living room, and pulled the door shut. His hand shot up to defend his face, and I kicked it out of my way. I placed my heel on his neck and took a good, long look at him.

In his forties, white, and going a little bald, his conservative appearance reeked of complacency. I pushed my foot down on his throat. He choked, sputtered, and spat out questions. At one point, he even managed several of them in a row--mainly whos and whys. Tired of hearing them, I kicked him in his teeth.

His mouth gave way beneath my shoe, and blood poured from his face. He howled and cried, alternately wailing and whimpering as the thick red of his life ran down and ingrained itself in the pastel tan of his carpet.

An excitement grew within me unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I snatched him to his feet by the front of his button down Oxford, took his mangled head in my hands--one cupping his chin, the other at the base of his skull--and snapped his neck.

He hit the ground, shivered once, and shit himself. A dark stain spread across his crotch as an erection grew, straining against the front of his slacks. His eyes lay open wide, the terror of his final second in life indelibly stamped upon them.

Drawn to those eyes, mesmerized by them, I crouched down beside the remains of his face and stared into them.

Half an hour later, I still stared into them, transfixed.

The sound of a key being inserted into the back door broke the spell.

I stood up, reluctantly releasing my study of those eyes, and waited to see who would enter. I didn't have long to wait. The sound of the door opening gave way to the heavy, flat slapping of shoes on linoleum. Seconds later, a disgustingly obese woman in her early forties walked into the room, perusing a small bundle of mail. She stopped in the doorway (almost filling it) and, as if alerted to my presence by some long unused primal instinct, looked up from her letters and right at me.

I smiled and said, "Hello."

Her small, piggish eyes looked down at the corpse and shot back up to lock on my own. She screamed, a shrill, earsplitting wail, and turned to run.Before she made it more than five steps, I caught her.

With a fierce goose-stepping kick, I planted my foot in the small of her back and sent her sprawling, face first, onto the kitchen tile.

She scrambled to stand back up, her screaming growing louder and more frenzied. I drew a rather large and wicked-looking butcher knife from the cutlery stand on the counter and, just as she got to her feet, turned back to face her.

At the sight of the knife, all color deserted her face. She tried to scream again but managed to rasp out only a few plaintive 'nos', her pudgy hands raised in front of her in a pitiful attempt to ward me off.

With a firm grip, I held the butcher knife in the proper blade down method that would have made my former Drill Instructor proud, but, instead of stabbing her, I punched her in the face, using the knife like a roll of quarters. Her nose shattered.

She flew back against the wall, her blood trailing from my fist to the remains of her nose. Limp, her arms dropped to her sides. I raised the knife and plunged it into her throat, just above the V of her collarbone.

The warm remnants of her life splurted out, drenching my face and shirt, dousing me in the viscous orgasm of her death. My eyes widened in lust, and a tremor of furious ecstasy rolled through my body. I stood immobile, unable to do anything but shake while the woman slid down the wall and relieved herself where she landed.

The intensity of the moment passed sufficiently to let me move again. I walked to the sink and pulled on a pair of the dead woman's rubber gloves. I rinsed the knife and, after drying it, placed it back into its slot in the cutlery stand.

A quick search of the upstairs led me to the couple's bedroom. I found a nice white Oxford to replace my blood-soaked dress shirt. I cleaned up in their bathroom, washing the blood off of my face and neck and out of my hair, and dressed in my old clothes and new shirt.

The gloves and bloody shirt I tossed in the bathtub and doused with hairspray. I set them on fire and left them to burn.Back in the kitchen, I grabbed a dishtowel and used it to open the front door. Tossing the cloth aside, I walked out of the house and down the street to my car.

I reached the restaurant where I worked waiting tables almost two hours late. My manager chewed my ass for another fifteen minutes before letting me get to work. Pretty soon, I settled into the mundane routine, and the rest of my shift sped by. All in all, it was a good night.I made seventy-three dollars in tips.



* * * *



I arrived home late to find my wife already asleep. I sat down on the bed next to her, with just enough force to wake her up. Still sleepy, she smiled up at me, and I slid my hand beneath the covers. The warmth of her body under my hand, I began to arouse her, marveling at how full of life she was.

As she undid my pants, I kissed her on the forehead and brushed her hair back from her face. She touched me, and I looked her body over, noting several places where a hard enough strike would disable her, two places where it would kill. My eyes closed, and the scenes from earlier replayed in my mind. I watched the stabbing again and again, feeling the hot blood spray across my face.

Lust and desire overwhelmed me. I crawled on top of my wife. She moaned in ecstasy as we joined together in angry, passionate sex. Blood covered my mind, plunging me into scarlet visions of death and sending pinpoints of pleasure and pain throughout my body. Screaming my climax, I collapsed upon her.

We lay in each other's arms, breathless from our efforts. After several minutes of silence, she ran her hand over my chest and tugged at my nipple ring.

"So," she asked. "How was work tonight?"

[omega0s]

Contact
I looked up at it, and found myself wondering if it was looking down on me, could it see? This mass of writhing flesh and teeth; this pile of grotesque mouthes and tenticles. Did it have thoughts, and if not then what was this alien conciousness in my own head, seperate from my own. Then unusherd thoughts began entering my mind, try as I may it seemed impossible to block there entry. These twisted thoughts only flowed more powerfully into my mind as i struggled against them, and never did my eyes leave the horror before me.

While I gazed into the bizzare creature that had come to roost above my furnace, A terrible collection of images invaded my mind. Memories of a putrid Green Hell, of an awful journey from its universe and across several planes of existance, a journey so unholsome and macrabe that my mind became disturbed. I felt my mind twist and untie like a knot, i felt all sense leave me so that i was struck dumbfounded when faced with this powerful evil. I stood slack jawed with my glazed eyes staring at the monstrosity above me, I would have remained like this until a loss of conciousness provided sweet relief if not for my salvation.

One long barberous sleppery tentacle uncurled from It's mass, and with firm powerful muscles; reached out a graced me with its touch, leaving a long line of slime connecting us. I saw it happen but found myself rendered completly helpless, still in a hopeless stupour. Time came to almost a screeching halt and made those several seconds stetch on like eons, as the horror stetched toward me me fear and hatred toward its touch grew with every millameter this black devil closed between us. But there i stood like a school boy awaiting punishement, stupified; and when the creature was close enough that it was its touch was unstopabble I tried to scream, all that escaped my lips was a slight cry. Then suddenly I was healed, I understood, and with that one touch I felt that alien conciousness burrow into my mind and nest, repairing me? Yes, making my my whole, more complete then it had ever been. I was suddenly made well, with its touch I was suddenly aware; this devil was far beyond any earth bound creatures judgement, far supperior to any human law or belief. It's mere acceptance of me, it's mere touch elevated me above humanity in a way never before thought of by humanity. I felt a God's power unmatched, a God's greatness unfufilled, a God's hunger unfed, I felt these needs and desires as my own. These bizarre powerfull wants and needs filled me so that they filled me and constituted my very existance, I knew what was to be done.